


Take the blame (I don't want it)

by Madpie



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Drunk Bard, Drunkenness, Fluff and Crack, Humor, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 10:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3974680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madpie/pseuds/Madpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard blames the wine. Repeatedly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take the blame (I don't want it)

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so this is my very first fanfic in a long, looong time and therefor, it probably sucks.  
> It's also written in like half an hour on my phone during some kind of sleep deprived and slightly manic inspirational haze, and unbeta'd (dangerous combination).  
> If anyone likes to volunteer for beta-ing, please let me know :)
> 
> I blame the Barduil tag on Tumblr!

The first time it happens, Bard blames the wine. It must be the wine, there is just no other logical explanation for it.

In one moment, he is sitting opposite Thranduil, drinking in companionable silence, and next thing he knows, he is splayed over said table with the Elvenking's tongue down his throat.

Everything after this is a blurry mess and he would thank the gods for small mercies, if it wasn't for the next morning and the most spectacular walk of shame of his life, under the watchfull eyes of way too many elven guards. That, he remembers in absolute unnecessary and humilitating clarity.

 

The second time it happens, Bard blames the wine. Again.

It's after the feast of his coronation when Thranduil seeks him out, looking all regal and precious in his official elven attire. He looks so incredibly tall and handsome, Bard thinks, absentmindedly, and giggles when he stumbles over his own feed.

Thranduil steadies him with a hand on his elbow, corners of his mouth quirked up in mild amusement. And that's the Moment in which Bard's alcohol addled brain chooses to short-circuit at last.

He is vaguely aware of his fingers grabbing the Elvenking by the collar and slamming their lips together in a passionate, if somewhat sloppy kiss.

There's a lot of frantic kissing and tearing of clothes afterwards, as they stumble down the hallways torwards the kingly chambers. There might even be a bit of wall-slamming involved at some point, if the bruises on Bard's back are anything to go by.

 

The third time it happens, Bard can't blame the wine.

"But we are not even drunk!", he blurts, holding Thranduil at distance rather awkwardly, with a hand wedged in between their faces.

The Elvenking pulls back slightly, rising one eyebrow in question.

"No, we are not", Thranduil states after a moment, slowly, radiating confusion, "I was not aware of that being a constant requirement."

Bard just gapes at him, at a complete loss for words.

Apparently, that's the wrong thing to do as the Elvenking's demeanor changes immediately. He takes a few steps back, his face carefully blank, but Bard knows him good enough by now to realize it to be nothing but a mask.

He has the sudden urge to sit down and put his face in his hands. Instead, he just takes a deep breath.

"I think there's some kind of misunderstanding going on."

"I apologize for misinterpreting the situation. It had not been my intention to make you uncomfortable.", Thranduil replies immediately.

"Didn't know you had it in you to apologize for anything", and oh god damn, he can't believe he said _that_ out loud.

Thranduil scowls, anger flickering over his face before his features become neutral once again. Without any further ado, he turns and starts to walk away.

"Wait!"

Thranduil whirls around in a blurr of pale silver robes and pins Bard with the most spectacular death glare he had ever seen.

"I am not willing to let you mock me any further, Dragonslayer", he growls, and Bard swallows hard, "Speak your intentions, clearly, or get out of my sight!"

"I'm not mocking you!"

"Then tell me what else to think! It's like you have forgotten about everything we shared!"

"Well..." Bard admits, because really, there's not much left mess up anyway, "My memories might be a tad holey regarding our last encounters..."

Thranduil's expression does that weird flickflacking of emotions again, turning from anger to hurt to bewilderment, and Bard feels a bit proud for catching him by the sleeve before he manages to dash off again.

"Wait, please", he breaths, voice embarassingly hoarse, and decides to not give a fuck anymore.

He takes a step forwards, right up into Thranduil's personal space, and fists his robe by the collar to pull him in for a kiss.

It's nothing like Bard imagined. Thranduil comes willingly, first touch of lips almost tentative. There is no urgency, no hazy desparation involved, which is one thing Bard remembers from their drunken antics. Only tenderness and care, and when they finally separate, his knees might feel a tiny bit weak.

Bard opens his mouth to say something, anything, but Thranduil shuts him up with a quick peck, smirking against his lips.

"Come on, it's time to make some more lasting memories."

And if his nod is a tad too eager, Bard finds that he doesn't care anymore.

 

"You know", Thranduil says as they walk hand in hand torwards his chambers, "For a moment I thought you might even want to revoke our marriage..."

**Author's Note:**

> Following the "having sex = elven marriage"-trope, in case you haven't figured that out by yourself ;)


End file.
